My Slippery Shoes
by SnoopyPez
Summary: Missing Scene Fic - Chandler goes on a hunt to find new shoes. (TOA 'I Do')


My Slippery Shoes 

**Author's Note:** As always, non-plot came to me while trying to sleep. The title is, of course, a play on Phoebe's song 'My Sticky Shoes'. This is short, and hopefully a _bit_ amusing, and a missing scene – Chandler and his shoes. From The One After 'I Do'. Speaking of, if teeny details are off, it's because I don't have my copy of the episode with me, so I'm only going by the transcript. 

Thank you Liz, for beta-ing! :D I know you're sick of my commas and fragments. But it's always there for a reason, baby!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. At all. I suppose I could own Chandler's shoes, but I don't, because he does.

****************

_Dammit. Damn damn _damn_ shoes!_

Chandler stomped down the empty hallway, as though he thought he could hurt his shoes as a punishment for being so slick-soled. All that time and effort he had spent, learning to dance so that he and Monica could start their lives together, well, with a dance. A dance that, for once, would not embarrass himself, his new wife, and everyone else who happened to have eyes. 

Seeing Monica's happy expression had sent a thrill through him. Of course, once they stepped onto the dance floor, it all went to hell. Chandler muttered with annoyance, gnashing his teeth as he stomped. He had, once again, appeared to be a complete idiot, slipping and flailing around. It only added insult to more insults when he had been forced to meet his mother's newest plaything. 

So now, he was on a mission. 

He _had_ to find a way to get these _damn_ shoes to stay on the ground. 

Why were there no extra shoes around?? If Joey could find a _tennis outfit_, for God's sake, why the hell couldn't Chandler find a damn shoe? Shouldn't there be some sort of place where people checked their shoes or something? Chandler realized he was thinking nonsense, but really, he couldn't have cared less. He wanted; he _needed_ shoes! He made his way to the gift shop.

"Come on!" he yelled at nothing in particular as he rummaged through a basket filled with t-shirts. Finally he gave up. He walked over to the counter, leaned across it, and practically growled, "Do you have any tape?" The clerk wasn't very impressed with this, and, cracking her gum loudly, tossed a scotch tape dispenser to him. Chandler nodded and stormed off.

Finding himself right outside the rest of the reception, he sat. _This has to work… it has to! _He began to apply the clear sticky plastic to the bottoms of his shoes.

Tape sticking to his fingers, twisting together with other pieces. Chandler's cursing to himself was interrupted by the arrival of Joey. 

"Chandler! Will you see if your mom can give my resume to Dennis Phillips? 'Cause if I can get in a Broadway show, then I would've done it all: film, television, and theater. The only thing left would be radio, and that's just for ugly people."

Chandler barely heard him. He stared at Joey's shoes, with a not quite rational manner. "What size shoes do you wear?" 

Joey looked at him with a hint of confusion, but didn't question. That was Joey, always helpful, even if he wasn't actually… helpful. "Uh, eleven, eleven and a half." _Perfect!_

Jumping up, Chandler asked, "Great, because my shoes are giving me a little problem on the dance floor, can I borrow the boots from your costume?" Giving a little hop, smiling, the plan was working. 

But Joey seemed to tense up. "Uh, I don't even really know where I left those. Sorry." Chandler deflated. _Dammit!_ He opened his mouth to insist they go looking for them, as they couldn't have walked away by themselves (no matter _what_ Joey thought), when he noticed something.

"Those aren't eleven and a half." 

Joey sputtered as though incredibly offended, but then, as usual, he caved under Chandler's glare. "Okay, fine! I'm a seven! All right, I have surprisingly small feet. But the rest of me is good, I'll show ya!"

Chandler stepped back, raising his hands in protest. "Okay, no need for that. I'll take your word for it. Listen, do you have _any_ idea where I can get a pair of shoes? That fit?" He felt he had to stress that last point for his friend.

Joey shook his head, all sympathies. "I'm sorry. So, hey, talk to Dennis for me?" He walked off. 

Chandler dropped his head into his hands. Well, no chance of the dancing now, might as well go find… stepdaddy.

******************

He really liked that song, the one that was playing right then. He wished so much that he was out there, hands in his wife's, turning and twisting, smiling and laughing. 

Chandler began to dance, right there in the hallway where his shoes wouldn't slide. He danced, remembering the lessons he took. And then he stopped, gazing into the main room sadly.

"And the world will never know." 

Joey exited the hall again, looking a bit anxious, asking if Chandler had talked to Dennis yet.

"Yes, I told him how talented you were. I told him all about _Days Of Our Lives_." 

"No-no! No! No! You don't tell a Broadway guy that! Now he just thinks I'm a soap actor!" Joey seemed really upset by this. And so, because Chandler was a firm believer of the 'misery loves company' philosophy, he said,

"But you're _not_ just a soap actor. You are a soap actor with freakishly tiny feet." Joey was understandably annoyed by this, and left sharply. _I bet he walked off just to rub in the fact that he can go in there and_ dance. Chandler pouted.

After fifteen minutes of banging his head against the wall, pacing back and forth, and stabbing the soles of his shoes with the broken pencil he found under his chair (why the hell couldn't there be extra shoes under there too??), he inched back into the large room. Clinging to the doorway, eyes darting around. Monica. His eyes landed on Monica, who was coming towards him. 

"Hey, are you ready to get back on the dance floor?" A slight, gentle smile on her face. Chandler found himself grudgingly smiling back, if only for a second. 

"Did it turn into sand?" 

She rolled her eyes and took his arm. "Oh come on, I love this song! Come on, you'll be fine." She pulled him after her, across the floor and onto that _damn_ dreaded floor. Chandler grasped her arm tighter as he slipped.

"No. No, I won't. Do you know why I took all those lessons? See, for the first time I didn't want you to be embarrassed to be seen on the dance floor with some clumsy idiot." It almost hurt to say that out loud. It sure hurt to _think_ about the love of his life being ashamed of him. 

"Oh sweetie, you can never embarrass me." She sighed as Chandler scoffed at that ridiculous claim. "Okay, you can easily embarrass me. But come on, it doesn't matter," she smiled sincerely at him. "All right? I married you! So I want to dance on my wedding night with my husband. Come on." Chandler shrugged. It wasn't the best encouragement, but she was right. She _did_ marry him, and was now willing to be seen with his clunky dancing. That was something. "Just try not to move your feet at all," she added as though she couldn't resist.

Still clutching Monica's hands, Chandler started to move, nodding his head. He didn't fall! Twisting his torso, sliding his feet. He released his wife's arms, finding himself brave, and waved them about in a not _too_ crazy way. He smiled – he could do this! 

Monica danced across from him, grinning broadly. "There you go!" This was great. Very much into it, Chandler noticed Mr Geller – no, his father-in-law – move over to them. 

"Chandler, I'm gonna have you arrested." A bit worried, Chandler asked why. "You stole my moves!" His in-laws began dancing; Jack, scarily like Chandler was just a moment ago. Mortified, Chandler stopped and stared, looking from Jack to Monica. Monica was smiling forcedly and tried to stop her husband when he stomped – carefully – off the floor.

Could that have _been_ any worse? Well, he supposed it could have. He could have slipped to the floor, splitting his pants, and causing a mass dominos-type accident. And then the entire building could have collapsed on his head. But then again, _that_ would have put him out of his misery. 

Monica sat beside him. "Hey." She touched his hand. "Chandler, it really wasn't that bad. I was having fun."

Chandler made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. He glanced around the large room, faltering slightly at the sight of Ross dancing with a little girl standing on his feet. _Stupid feet… stupid shoes. _He reached down, removed a shoe. 

"Um, sweetie? What are ya gonna do with the shoe, there?" Monica asked in a voice most people reserve for talking people out of jumping from their buildings. 

All of a sudden, Chandler began to chuckle. He laughed a genuine laugh, not at all unhinged; for the first time since he first walked on that _damn_ slippery floor, he felt completely sane. He pulled off his other shoe, and then each of his socks. Throwing it all under the chair he sat on, he stood, pulling Monica up. She had a very worried look on her pretty face. Chandler shook off her questions and walked to the edge of the square floor.

Smiling charmingly, he brought his wife's hand to his mouth, kissing the palm. Then he led her onto the floor, and proceeded to dance. Barefoot. 

And _dammit_, the world saw, and they knew.

End.


End file.
